''A great ambition,'' he says now.①本①作①品①由①思①兔①網①提①供①線①上①閱①讀①
A great labour,'' says Mr Huss.
''Indeed,'' says Mr Hawtrey, turning again to me. ''I am afraid, Miss Lilly, your uncle continues to work you very mercilessly.''
I shrug. ''I was bred to the task,'' I say, ''as servants are.''
''Servants and young ladies,'' says Mr Huss, ''are different sorts of creatures. Have I not said so, many times? Girls'' eyes should not be worn out with reading, nor their small hands made hard through the gripping of pens.''
''So my uncle believes,'' I say, showing my gloves; though it is his books he is anxious to save, of course, not my fingers.
And what,'' he says now, ''if she labour five hours a day? I labour ten! What should we work for, if not books? Hmm? Think of Smart, and de Bury. Or think of Tinius, so dedicated a collector he killed two men for the sake of his library.''
''Think of Frere Vincente, who, for the sake of his, killed twelve!'' Mr Hawtrey shakes his head. ''No, no, Mr Lilly. Work your niece if you must. But drive her to violence for literature''s sake, and we shall never forgive you.''
The gentlemen laugh.
''Well, well,'' says my uncle.
I study my hand, saying nothing. My fingers show red as ruby through the glass of dark wine, my mother''s initial quite invisible until I turn the crystal; t